Two hearts and a canoe
by Zanteh
Summary: Canada x Australia. "A canadian is someone who knows how to make love in a canoe." ONESHOT.


**Two Hearts and a Canoe **

"And for this reason, you consider yourself manly?" Australia broke out in a silly laugh, twirling in his seat in incoherent movements and showing his pearly teeth, as sharp and long as his crocodile pets'. His olive skin was so dark compared to Canada's, so soft and white and pale. Matthew eyed him from the side, calmly replying. "Of course. Canoeing is a perfectly manly activity." Australia laughed even more, covering his face with his dusty rusty hands. They were covered in scratches and dried blood, stained with tiny particles of reddish sand and hardened scabs, so similar to Arthur's hands back in his golden days. Canada mentally smiled at the thought, glancing at his own, strong and powerful, but endowed with the same delicacy and gentleness of Francis' long fingers, hands good to play the piano, scribble poetry and pull ladies' heart-strings. Australia was so not like him: his hair had the same colour of his deserts and stood up high on his head like the flames burning, glowing and stretching to reach for the sky; totally not like his, golden threads harmoniously framing his fine face, bouncing and swishing and shining like maple syrup on a pancake.

"You should totally show me, then!" He spat out in regaining a somewhat decent composure. Not that Canada minded having him lazily slouched on the front seat of his car, being used to America and his brat-like manners. Still, the small effort Aussie made to appear well-behaved aroused a warm fuzzy familiar feeling in his chest, a sentiment of brotherhood and shared past. All those years spent with Arthur condensed in the simple awareness of being not-properly sat. There was something funny and adorable in all of this.

"Ha ha! Well, you can always stay for longer once the others are gone. It's always good to have family around!" Canada flashed a convincing smile, taking his eyes off the road for just one second.

"Sure it is! If Arthur's ever done something good, his Tea Parties get first place!"

"Agreed. Besides, I'm happy I got to host this time!"

"We are both. Yet, I'm still sorry for having bothered you by coming a day in advance.."

"Don't worry, Aussie! This way, I could come and pick you up myself. If your plane'd arrived late tomorrow, you would've had to call a taxi. Not that I have something against taxis, but I like it better to meet my guests in person, even more if they're my bros!"

Exchanging a sympathetic simper, the both of them travelled in the dying sun, determined to drink something steaming hot before the night would fall. The party would not start but the following day in the late afternoon - just like Arthur wished. They might be grown-up and independent now, but they still fancied granting his silly wishes, just like having tea at 5 o'clock all together in the brightest room of the old Victorian mansion. For an evening, for a moment only, they looked like a real family. And Arthur loved it, even if he would never admit it, he loved being him himself the Big Brother for once, at least. Also Matthew liked being the one and only dear American son on this occasions. No Alfred in the way, no America bragging, boasting, munching or slurping next to him. Canada, the one and only. There was something fantastic in this mere thought.

Australia had come sooner than his brothers because of a quarrel with his boss. They had thrown things at each other for something concerning the criminality rate and he could not stand being around any longer, so he'd just made a quick call to Canada, saying he would be early for the party. Matthew had no problem with that - Aussie was a good brother, someone he could take home and trust. Somewhat. Along the way, they'd been teasing each other just like good siblings do - till the conversation fell on the new laws approved in each country. Canada prided himself in being a very gay-friendly country, something which Aussie just could not avoid making fun of. And there they were, sputtering unconvincing words in each others' faces, trying to prove how manly they were.

"Thanks, Bro. You really know how to make people feel better." Australia rested his head against his seat, glancing outside at the muddles of purplish and greenish colours of the countryside. They'd decided to go up to the mansion chosen for the meeting and spend there the night. This way, Canada would more easily make sure everything was alright. Not to say that in case, Australia would gladly give a hand , partly to thank him for the hospitality, partly because of his natural friendliness.

They hadn't passed the gates of the two-storey Victorian-style mansion, when Australia got a glimpse of the nearby lake reflecting the surrounding maple-wood in its waters. "Mate?"

"Yes, Aussie?" Canada replied quite worriedly, catching the surprised tone in Australia's voice.

"Is that a lake?" When Australia turned, a wide childish grin was plastered on his face. He rocked back and forth in his seat as a kid who's just seen the glimmering paper enveloping his Christmas presents. The coldness piercing through his fingers disappeared immediately to give expression to his excitement, as by pressing his hands and face against the frosty glass of the window, he was unconsciously convinced that his enthusiasm would warm up the whole place. "Mate, you gotta take me there!"

"Alright, Bro! First thing we'll do tomorrow morning after checking if everything's ready!"

"Awesome!" And thus, with an Australian happily singing 'Imma canoeing! Imma canoeing!" and a Canadian grinning cheerfully, the metallic blue car entered the garage.

Their dinner wasn't the lightest, some grilled moose and some butter tarts, all soaked in several glasses of wine. Maybe it was the alcohol running in his veins, but Matthew's flushed cheeks were just begging to be pinched, what with their being perfectly framed by his wavy locks or the crimson sunset that only Canadian wine could paint on his face. And his laughter, so clear and genuine, that flooded into Bruce's body, tearing it into a feast of rainbow-coloured confetti; and his glasses, that kept falling from the bridge of his red nose, those same glasses that he had to push back in place with the most innocent and adorable gestures; and his eyes, his purplish grey eyes, clear as evening winter skies.

Australia had to shake his head more than once to keep those thoughts out of his mind. Unfortunately, they always crept back from the back of his brain, biting and nibbling and munching it like starving snakes. He buried his face in the freshness of the duvet of his bed, inhaling the bountiful smell of bleach and lavender. For a moment, he wondered what Matthew smelt like - just right before smothering himself in a feathery rectangular pillow. _It's the wine. It must be the wine. _He told himself, but he couldn't keep his mind away from Matthew, probably already asleep in the other room. _It must be the wine, the cold, the thirst. _Focusing on the last excuse, he soon convinced himself that the only problem was him being thirsty. _Of course, everyone knows that alcohol dehydrates!_!

In a glimpse of folly, he jumped out of bed - just to step on the icy ground. _SO FUCKIN' COLD_. Cursing under his breath whilst rummaging in his bag, he eventually found his slippers in his case, slammed them against the floor, wore them and dashed to the kitchen. Yet, now that he was up and drinking, with the only company of the low temperature freezing his bones, muscles and brain, the real possibility to sneak into Canada's room to ask for more blankets was about to take a somewhat distinct form. As soon as the glass was emptied, Bruce's mind focused on the one and only need for warmth.

Gliding silently along the walls, it took him no time to find Matthew's room, a wide chamber full of old-fashioned furniture belonging to a past that now seemed so so distant. In the dark, his slowly-breathing well-built silhouette reminded him of his beloved Uluru, of is red deserts, of his fiery land.

"M-Matt? Mattie? Hey.." He quietly stammered in walking up to the dark bed, reaching out to search for Matthew's body. Under his palms, the heavy blankets formed empty invisible pools of dark nothingness. "Can-can?"

Matthew groaned quietly, turning to the side towards the nuisance bothering his sleep. "What?" His whisper filled the gap between them, and all those pools, and the room itself. That murmur silenced everything and aroused its attention.

Scratching his band-aid, Bruce quietly uttered a slurred incoherent reply. "It's-It's quite chilly in me' room, ya know, mate? So, I wuz wonderin'..Ya know-" The bombing noise of Matthew's hands pushing the blankets away shouted in the dark, flashing through the blackness, ripping it apart. A grey silence fell between them, clenching Bruce's throat, cementing his legs to the sand-like floor.

"You wanted to sleep here, right? So, why are you waiting? It's cold.. and I'm so tired.."

"Actually, I-" Matthew yawned loudly, turning his back to the door, as smiling, Bruce quickly glided under the covers. Going back to his room? Pft. He liked it better that way. And Matthew's pillows smelt of Pinewood and Mint... Just like him. He buried his face in those soft pillows, biting his lips in happiness. There was something extremely sweet in being in the same bed with Canada. Something tender and exciting at the same time. Right before dozing off, he even wondered about clawing him, holding him closely -just for the night, sure. But he didn't. For Canada was a brother of him... Even if his hair smelt that good, he couldn't be anything more than his brother. ._.Right?_

In the morning, the alarm clock forced them to open their eyes early. That didn't mean they couldn't insult it all along whilst rubbing their eyes, yawning and wondering what had happened the night before to be still dressed but in the same bed. Not saying a word about it, they dashed to the bathroom, put on thick clothes while having a shower respectively, combed their hair till it looked less messy, joked about their different eyebrows, mentioned their "jerky but cool" fathers and whilst Matthew was trying to wear his contacts without scratching out one of his eyes, Bruce substituted his band-aid with a brand new one. Matthew offered to cook some pancakes and sure, Bruce couldn't but nod happily at the proposal - yet, out of kindness, he offered to lay the table there in the kitchen. They ate cheerfully, smothering their food in maple syrup, freshly provided by Canada's bear, which had been out for the whole day to visit some relatives. Soon after their teeth were brushed, they walked back to the living room and checked if everything was in order thrice, going through the list obsessively, till Canada almost begged to rush out of that mansion before the idea to control a fourth time crept onto his mind.

Pushed the perfectly-equipped canoe in the silver, frosty water, they were finally ready to row to the centre of the lake - or that was Australia's idea. Commenting on the "toothpick-sized" paddles Canada had handed him, he sternly toiled till he could see a white trail of bubbles greeting them, along with the several circles dancing around the canoe, round and perfect. Suffocating his pants, he smiled. _That was life! _

Canada laughed cheerfully, feeling the icy morning pinching his cheeks. "We need to meet more often, Bro!"

As soon as Australia tilted his head back to flash him his best "Sure, matey!"-smile, due to the fastness, his left paddle slipped, causing the canoe to rock inevitably and him to be launched to the side into the icy water.

"BRUCE!" Gained some balance, Matthew immediately stretched his arms out to give him help. "Bruce! Take my hand! Quick!"

Recovering quickly, Australia fast swam to the canoe, reached for his strong limbs and held them firmly as Canada hoisted him up. Like a just-fished salmon, he slipped on the white seat, trembling all over. "Fuck, that's cold!"

"Shut up and put this on!" Canada covered him with a thick itchy rug, rubbing and drying his shivering body till his cheeks had re-gained some colour. "-Better?" His quivering voice didn't hide the serious worry painted all over his face. He should've never let him paddle! "Gosh, Bruce.." He muttered in wiping the last cold drops away from his violet lips.

Those worried eyes were so liquid..And his face was so close..And those lips were so pink and swollen, bitten all over.. Bruce leaned on till he could peck them lightly.

"Better."

Matthew blinked, battled between uncertainty and curiosity. "Better?" He asked mindlessly, not really caring about the answer. Just a tilt of Bruce's head and he would close the gap between them. And so he did, devouring his smile with his lips, gnawing his tongue between his teeth, fighting in his mouth and pushing with his hands, till they were both laying on the smooth wooden floor of the canoe.

No word, they spoke no word as they chained their mouths together again, leaving their hands free to stroll along their bodies. Dragging down the zip of Bruce's winter-jacket, Matthew ripped it open just to let his hands scratch all the way up his pullover, revealing his tanned muscular body for his eyes to bite. He was hungry, reasonlessly insatiably hungry for warmth and those sculpted rock abs, that burned browned skin were like a sun begging to be eaten.

_I can't – It won't hurt – but I can't..._ The widening smirk flourishing on Bruce's face demolished the only barrier of sanity left in him. Swallowing the sandy storm batting his desert-tongue, he pressed his palm between his legs, eyes violet and liquid staring in awe and curiosity at that large smile disappearing in the white of the hull as Bruce tilted his head back, as Bruce arched his back to come closer.

Hands – hands fiddling with belts, hands unzipping pants, hands clawing painted gunwale, hands entangling with each other in a mad dance. Hands and eyes – closed, widened, lucid, curious, starving, needy, lustful, giant blank orbs praying to the empty sky. Hands, eyes, legs - lips, fingers, naked bodies, naked souls. And Bruce's nails leaving their prints in the wood and Matthew kisses up his manhood, and dull thuds, the clunking sounds of his feet against the seats and the frantic thumping of his heart in his throat.

Canada licks down his cock, holding a smile within himself as Bruce's band-aid flutters about like a weather-vane, barely stuck to his nose any longer. It reveals a deep scar under it and an even more deeply contracted face. He slightly bites him, sucking a little, blowing hot air soon after and kissing the red spot as to say 'I'm sorry'. That face's awoken a sleeping beast.

Bruce gnaws his bottom lip, biting down till it tears open as Matthew's finger penetrates him. A crimson stream flows down his cheek, curving as his head is tilted to the side, rolling up and down and along his jaw as he opens his mouth more for Matthew to hear him. Every moan gets a new thrust, and he trusts Mattie to be good, to be violent and rough and firm but careful and loving, he wants Matthew to take away his warmth, his sun, he wants to close his eyes until it's his night what he sees.

He laboriously hoists himself up, offers him his mouth, takes him in like a good child. His eyes are closed – he's enjoying the rainbow stars exploding behind his eyelids. As Matthew adjusts his position in the hull, opening and rolling his arms behind the thwart, Bruce's tongue travels up his belly, circles his navel and licks up to his nipples. His pearly teeth leave small purplish marks on his chest before disappearing in the crook of his neck as he straddles Canada, balancing himself on his knees and on the dirty balls of his feet. Wrapping his strong arms around Matthew's excited body, his body relaxes and lowers, meeting the other's arousal.

Bruce tosses his head back for Canada to kiss, moaning loudly and shamelessly as his muscles tense in riding him. Matthew's roars are hoarse and lewd against his Adam apple, his shoulders tremble and taut, marked by the insistent opaque blades cutting through their skin, his legs quivering with pleasure under his bumping body. He loves that sensation of dizziness and confusion only the adrenaline rushing through his body can cause him, he loves the smell of sweat and salty water and Matthew's reek of pinewood and wilderness, he loves the creaking sound of wood and the lumpy waves radiating from the canoe. He loves Matthew's bewildered expression, a mixture of confusion and pleasure reddening his icy face, and his natural quietness now muted in insane craving to touch, taste, feel more – and he loves how he bites his lip to resist some more, just in time for Bruce to come between them before lowly moaning out his name.

When the first coldness touched their skin, Matthew'd already helped Australia dress himself, washing away the whiteness with the icy silver water for he lake, buttoning his carpenter shirt and wearing his winter-jacket again right afterwards. Awkwardly smiling at his lover resting, Canada paddled back to the shore, still quivering slightly from the previous excitement.

Together, they dragged the canoe out of the lake, stumbling and trampling in the mud, unable to appear as brutal and wild as they wished to. It didn't matter, it didn't matter at all. Offering his gloved hand to take, Matthew couldn't hinder an embarrassed but happy smile to blossom on his pink face as Bruce's fingers enveloped his own. Dashing back into the house, they took off each others' clothes again, just to have a hot shower together.

In the evening, Arthur couldn't but keep wondering – also somewhat suspiciously – why the two of them apparently got along so well.. Up to the point of being sat the one next to the other at the dinner-table, flashing each other stupid smiles and whispering dirty jokes under their breath.

* * *

><p>-End<p>

Urulu = Ayers Rock ^.-  
>Hull, gunwale...= Parts of canoe (canoe: http .comthumb/0/02/Morris-canoe-600. jpg - just, white. BECAUSE CANADA IS WHITE, RED AND GREEN.)

**NB:** Sorry, **Cha-Chan**, if it took me longer. Happy Newton's BDay 3  
><strong>Ilfreitas<strong>: If you read this: Thank you for having taught me the differences between every type of ship. I would've never been able to write anything related to sailing/canoeing without your explainations. 


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